January 2018

Happy new year guys! I know the euphoria of a new year is slowly starting to fade. But I feel like I haven’t said it enough yet. I am not yet sure how i feel about the cheetah pace of the new year. Wasn’t I just wishing everyone a happy new year few days ago? Yet somehow we are already 22 days in. On one hand I am happy it is moving along with so much speed because there is a lot that needs to be done this year yuno?

But on the other hand, where is it running to?? I don’t want to blink and realize that the whole year has passed and I didn’t even do half of the things I planned to do this year.

Well, fingers crossed. We will see how it goes.

(Meanwhile you guys… I am planning a giveaway and I am so eggzited!!! Keep reading for the deets)

So….I recently stumbled upon the Currently I am post by Ifeoma of draped in basics. It was a well written, articulate, sort of playful post that I believe helps one review the past while also planning for the future.
In the past I have come across a number of similar posts but for whatever reason I felt this one and I feel this is what I need to help me put the year in perspective so here goes…

Currently I am…

Wearing: as little as possible. I am presently in Porthacourt, it seems the harmattan has long left the city and the heat returned with a vengeance.

Hoping: To finally catch a break this year. Tbh my 2017 did not go anywhere near how I planned it. The rug kept getting pulled out from under my feet. I am seriously hoping for a better 2018.

Determined: To get off my lazy behind and finally do something about my book/screenplay. My lazy behind has been working on a book/script idea for longer than I care to say. I am determined to make 2018 the year of fruition.Craving: Would it be too typical if I said money? Because TBH that’s really all I am craving right now.

Excited About: Planning my first group adventure. So recently a small group of friends were crazy enough to allow me plan a weekend trip for us all. I am stoked and cant wait to see how it goes.

Happy about: The steady growth of my blog. When I finally decided to start blogging(again) I was skeptical because I honesty didn’t think I could pull it off. But I have been making steady strides and so far so good.

Appreciating: Everyone that has taken the pain to subscribe to my YouTube channel, blog newsletter and Instagram. You guys are the real OGs. I cant thank y’all enough.

Irritated by: the heat, by NEPA and the fact that fuel seems to cost an arm and a leg right now.

Inspired by: Susan of wakawaka chronicles. I love her warrior spirit and her unapologetic determination to keep forging ahead.Planning to: Finally get on my (preowned)online books and rare finds store. I have had the idea for a while and I have been dillydallying for so long. But I believe I’m finally at the right place to set it off.

Loving: My(notso) new PC. I got am Aspire E 14 Acer laptop late last year and my life has been so much easier. My old PC was high blood pressure waiting to happen, it was literally falling apart. No jokes like it was missing a couple screws. But in its defense I had had it for about 6 years so it was really on its way out.

Unsure about: How to get rid of the pimples that have afflicted me. Ever since I came back from camping in Taraba State my face has become overrun with giant pimples. I think stress is a major factor here but I kuku don’t know what to try again. Please help me!

Reading: On writing by Stephen King. Rereading it actually, read it for the first time two years ago. I am also basically reading every blogpost/article that I feel can help me improve my writing and storytelling skills.

Listening to: Nothing in particular but I always have my favorite album Udo ga di by Umu Obiligbo handy.

That is pretty much it. I quite liked this idea and I am wondering why I haven’t done it sooner. Happy new year once again, and I wish the new week brings you peace and joy. Giveaway coming soon!!! Check out my survey here for more deets…xxx

Currently I am || Jan ’18 + Survey was last modified: January 22nd, 2018 by Ifunanya

I tend to move around a lot. In some ways I like to consider myself a hobo.

Okay maybe hobo is a bit too strong, how about nomad then. Is that any better?

Listen, the point is I almost never have any issues with packing my bags and heading out to a new destination. It really isn’t a big deal to me. I have been told that it is a symptom of my deep rooted and not yet properly dealt with fear of rejection and isolation issues from my childhood. Okay Dr. Phil, I think I just like to explore but okay.

I think everyone needs to stop over analyzing everything and just let me see the world. How bouh dah?

You know, it’s funny in a way because in the same breath I am an extreme hoarder with a crucial inability to let go of anything or move on once I get comfortable. I love my familiar zones – places, people, habits, stuff like that.

So you see? Am I really suffering from pent up rejection and isolation issue?

Anyways, I have digressed. I was going to tell you about the trouble with finding a new hairdresser each time I’m in a new place.
As you may or may not know my hair is natural, which means unrelaxed, and in all its 4C glory. Which as you probably already know can be quite a problem.

I can’t wear my hair out in the open for too long without fighting the urge to put a scissors thru it and call it a day.

Why am I telling you all this?

Recently, I had a wedding to attend and it was demanded that I look well…..presentable.
Ignoring my instincts and because my friends swore by all the gods, I went to a new unchattered hairdresser with my weave in hand.
I showed him what I wanted and he nodded in agreement. He seemed like he had actually grasped what I had said so I held my breath and prayed for the best.
About 45 mins later, it became apparent that;

1) He didn’t understand me

2) My prayers didn’t go very far.

Looking at my reflection in the mirror I let out a sigh and smiled in agreement to the fake “the hair fine die” and “E fit you o” that flew across the room.

If I have to be honest the finished product wasn’t that bad. It was quite fine actually but here’s the thing…

….it wasn’t what I wanted.

I had spent most of the day on my feet and moving around so I was exhausted and in no mood to argue.
I paid him, thanked him and left.

Two days after the wedding I took the hair out whilst crying soft, heartfelt tears for my money that will never be recovered.

I have been here before. More times than I care to count and it almost always ends with me angry, and a few bucks poorer.

Solution:
In the spirit of not wasting my time and money I have decided to go in the way of wigs.

Yup.
I have never worn or fancied them. Growing up if I heard the word “wig” I would instantly imagine an elderly woman with thinning hair and no edges. Wearing that horse hair looking cap and always ready to tell on me when I was caught doing something I shouldn’t.

But, times have changed.

And there’s a new trend of beautifully crafted, actually beautiful and actually wearable wigs.

And even tho I probably won’t be able to whip my hair as freely and often as I might. I yearn for the duality of looking fabulous all day and tossing said “fabulousity” at the end of each day.

Hobo Living And Natural Hair Troubles was last modified: January 18th, 2018 by Ifunanya

Obi didn’t quite like that he had left home so abruptly. He had hoped to spend all of his summer break with his family. It was only fair seeing as he hadn’t been home since he started university three and a half years ago. He had started to miss his mum’s meals and the way she moved along to his father’s stereo on Saturday mornings when she prepared her famous pancake and custard.

Obi had always suspected that his father wasn’t much of a music lover but only went along with it because of how happy it made his wife. He would do anything to keep his wife happy, theirs was a love like a fairy tale. Obi had been told the story over and over in the years that he had spent living under their roof.

The story of a young couple who had despite all warnings, journeyed to England to start a life together. They had left Nigeria shortly after the independence, a time when everyone was hopeful and positive.

Izunna – Obi’s father told the story of the independent celebration to Obi every chance he got. There were mass jubilation on the city streets and in the villages. Even in the remote areas everyone was happy and hopeful.

But they had left regardless. Life in England was very tough at first especially considering the fact that his mum became pregnant with him shortly into the second year. They were both struggling to make ends meet. He had taken a position much less than he would have had to had he remained in Nigeria. She worked as a seamstress in a tailor’s shop, patching up torn clothes and sewing on zippers and buttons. Their combined income was barely enough to take care of both of them and the baby on the way. But they worked harder, their love and determination never wavering. Eventually things got easier, they started to find their footing and they haven’t looked back ever since.

Izunna’s father had tried to get him to stay back in Nigeria, he had secured a job for him at the civil service. It came with a hefty pay and a flat in the good part of town. His father was due to retire in a couple years and was making sure his family was taken care of before his retirement. He didn’t want it to be heard that any relation of his was living beneath a well to do standard. Especially his only son. He had spent 18 years in the civil service and was well known for his aristocratic lifestyle. He was well vested in the ways of the white man and lived his life as one. But unlike the white man, he did not turn up his nose to his people- not his brothers and kinsmen at least. He tried to help them in every way he could.

One time he had gone to the club to celebrate with a colleague. When they pulled into the parking lot some young boys fought over the right to watch over the car as was the custom.

“Na me get this one, Oga na me go look am”

He normally never paid attention to these kids as they where mostly hoodlums but on this day he looked up and immediately spotted Uzuama’s young son. The boy had ran away from the village to the city in search of greener pastures but much to his disappointments, city life was nothing like the tales he had heard in the village. He had become a delinquent, working the streets to get by.

Izunna’s father would later secure a job for him as an errand boy in one of the guest houses set aside for members of the civil service. The news of his heroic deeds traveled to the village and he was hailed as the son that could be counted on at all times.

But Obi never heard all this, not from his father at least. On rare occasions when his father was out of town and with much persuasion on his part his mother would succumb and tell him tales of his grandfather and his people. But she always made him promise never to speak of it.

“Why does father hate his people so much?” He had finally asked his mother one night after her stories.

“Your father doesn’t hate his people he loves them. Its all too complicated when you are older, you will understand”

But he was older now and he still didn’t understand any of it. His father still didn’t talk about his family and wouldn’t even consider going home to Nigeria. Not even after news reached him that his father has suffered a partial stroke and was on admission in the hospital.

Things carried on at home like nothing had happened.

Obi was presently in his final year at university with one semester to go and not entirely certain of what to do next so he had decided to return home. It had seemed like a good idea in the beginning, he had received a warm welcome from his mother and she had cooked him his favorite meal.

But after only a couple days at home he realized nothing had changed. The music still played, and his parents still very much ignored all their family members. Somewhere in the back of his mind he always knew what he wanted to do. What he had to do. But a confirmation came to him two weeks into his visit. His parents had both gone to church that evening as they normally do most evenings. He had decided to stay home because he didn’t feel well. After much hesitation his parents agreed and let him stay home. Part curiosity and part boredom had led him into his parents room and while he was going thru his fathers book collection he had found a letter. It seemed to have been written by his aunt – his father’s only sister.

In the letter she had urged him to come home and make peace with their father for it seemed he was nearing the end of his life. The later was dated June 1981, this was Aug 1985 and father still hasn’t gone home. It in that moment that he new exactly I what he had to do.

He folded the letter neatly and put it in the breast pocket of his shirt. Going back to his room he proceeded to pack his bags.

When his parents got back from church he told them a made up story of why he had to go back to the campus the following morning but promised to be back home before the weekend.

Now his heart beat loudly in his chest as he walked to meet a friend that could help him secure a ticket aboard a ship to Nigeria. He would have to go by sea as he could not go by air without alerting his parents. Now hoping to be far off before they would find the note he had left of his dresser explaining where he had truly gone. His heart caved as he tried to imagine his mother’s heartbreaking upon finding the letter but he dug deeper and steadied his resolve. He wasn’t going to change his mind, there was no turning back now.

***** TO BE CONTINUED*******

Homecoming || A short Story was last modified: January 19th, 2018 by Ifunanya

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